


Purple Haze

by Kanuvina



Category: The Secret World
Genre: Arthurian legend - Freeform, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Phoenicians, Templars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 17:32:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanuvina/pseuds/Kanuvina
Summary: Maab must outsmart and outmaneuver a Phoenician agent.





	Purple Haze

Maab sat inside a small cafe, sipping her espresso and watching the cruise ships come and go in Ancona’s harbor. It wasn’t a large city, but it had that old-world charm that made the terracotta-roofed buildings hard to place in any time period. Like many seaside villages and towns in Italy, Ancona’s buildings were tightly-packed along narrow cobblestone roads that snaked down the hillside. Occasionally, the monotony of the orange square structures was broken by a domed church’s tall crucifix, or ancient Greco-Roman rubble.

Gulls screeched over the turquoise waters as Maab nibbled at her biscotti and tried to blend in with the other tourists. Of course, she was there on a mission, not leisure, but the two sometimes intertwined serendipitously.

Her phone vibrated. Maab set her espresso down and checked the message.

Sonnac [16:32]: Are you at the place?

Me [16:32]: Yea

Sonnac [16:35]: Good. The agent goes by the name Eris… not very original. Anyway. I will message you a recent photograph. She will be meeting a buyer from Orochi. Find out all the details you can and relay ASAP.

Me [16:36]: Right. Anymore info?

Sonnac [16:37]: Eris is not a Secret Worlder, but do not underestimate her. She is a plunderer-for-hire and ruthless, like all Phoenicians. I will attach a dossier on her along with the picture. You’ve dealt with them before, so you know to be cautious.

Me [16:38]: Yes.

Maab heard voices and put her phone down. A tall woman wearing a large straw hat and a lilac sundress was seated two tables in front of Maab. Her large sunglasses nearly masked half her face and a braided chain of gold dangled around her neck. She ordered her cappuccino in flawless Italian, flashing the young waiter a bright smile. Maab took another sip of her espresso, watching the woman from the corner of her eye.

Maab’s phone vibrated a couple more times before she checked it again, this time with the information Sonnac promised. The first message contained a grainy surveillance photo taken overhead of a woman in a dark purple bodysuit, her dark curly hair tied back in a ponytail. Although not the best definition, the woman in the photo was clearly the same sitting at the table across from Maab. She checked the second message and it was a short list of vitals on “Agent Eris,” such as height, weight, nationality, education, and so on. Such as it was, much of the bio was left blank; information on the Phoenicians was harder to pin down than any other secret order.

Eris’ coffee and pastry arrived and she blew lightly at the top of the foamy drink before taking a sip. The only information on her in the scant dossier was that she was Greek, approximately 40 years old, and estimated to have joined the Phoenicians sometime in the late 80s.

Not much to go on.

Maab frowned. She had no idea what to expect from this Eris, except for what she expected from any Phoenician: danger.

Finding the fabled Carnwennan would not be difficult - Maab had a solid lead. She was here for proof of conspiracy and intent between members of the Orochi Group and the Phoenicians to procure and reverse-engineer ancient relics without the Council’s approval. Sure, it seemed like high-stakes tattling, but the Templars were more interested in leverage against the Phoenicians. The most the Council of Venice would do to the Phoenicians was maybe remove a few of their seats on the council. Withholding that information for a future favor was far more valuable.

Fiddling with her phone to look busy, Maab began to worry the Orochi contact would be a no-show and this would be a dead end.

Her concerns were allayed when a young man with neat blond hair sat opposite Eris, his back to Maab. He wore the black suit with slim white lines in the front that marked every Orochi employee. Their organization was so ubiquitous they didn’t need to go undercover. The Nine-Headed Serpent, looking outward and inward, everywhere at all times.

The two greeted each other warmly. Maab did not need to listen too hard - after all, the cafe was bugged. _Literally_. The bees rested under each table, in each nook and cranny of the little cafe, their wings tucked in and their antennae still. Eris and her Orochi friend were none the wiser; with no link to anima, the bees were undetectable. They would gather what they heard, like pollen from a field of flowers. It would be fragmented, most of it unintelligible, but it was Maab’s job to piece it all together.

\---

From what she could gather from the bees’ garbled recounting, Maab needed to move fast if she wanted to get to the Carnwennan before Eris. Its location was tricky, however. According to an ancient letter written by a Roman Legionnaire, the blade was hidden in a cavern in what was now known as the province of Marche, not too far from Ancona. Cross-referencing the soldier’s descriptions and geographical data, it would be in the Grotte di Frasassi. That was all well and good, but the cavern was a major tourist spot in the area. Assuming the blade was even in there, it would be hidden well.

Maab couldn’t just waltz into the cave and begin poking around. There would be security and nosy visitors during the day. She needed to wait until nightfall.

To kill time, Maab observed the guard rotations, security camera locations, and had time to pore over the maps of the cave again. It was near midnight when Maab found her opening. The skeleton crew of guards were there mostly to keep teenagers from trespassing - there was nothing of known value, otherwise -  so they mostly loafed around and watched football matches on their portable TVs.

Maab easily slipped past the guard at the entrance, avoiding the cameras, and snatched one of the torchlight helmets on her way inside.

The Grotte di Frasassi was a cold and very damp cavern riddled with pale stalactites and stalagmites. There were four main caverns, but the fragmented, time-worn letter from the legionnaire described a very windy chamber. All research pointed to the Grotta Grande del Ventro, the Great Cave of the Wind.

As Maab made her way through the dark tunnels, she could hear the occasional drip of water from the stalactites and the click of her footfalls echo around her, but otherwise it was silent. Perhaps there was hope that she got here early. Then again, Eris could have absconded with Carnwennan hours ago.

A gust of frigid wind nearly knocked Maab over as she entered a vast chamber. The howling and keening wind in the Grotta Grande del Ventro was so loud, Maab wished she had thought to bring earplugs. Torn between pressing her hands to her ears or grasping the railing for purchase, Maab had to keep herself steady. She held onto the railing around the worn path through the cavern, looking around for anything that might stand out.

Peering behind every stalagmite and rocky outcropping, Maab eventually spotted a deep cistern on the far end of the cave, a shallow pool of water far below. The light from Maab’s helmet reflected off a myriad of silvery coins at the bottom of the shallow pool - a sort of impromptu wishing well.

Maab scanned over the glittering coins, hoping for some sort of sign, and there it was.

Carnwennan. King Arthur’s magical dagger.

Or so the legend went, anyway. Silver-bladed with a hilt made from bleached antler, it had been among the Roman Empire’s spoils from Albion. Imbued with the power to cloak its wielder in shadow, the blade was coveted by assassins, thieves, and anyone with a knack for subterfuge. The Templars claimed it rightfully belonged to them, along with any mythical relics from Europe. The Phoenicians did not believe in ownership rights; they would sell their own souls to the highest bidder.

The fabled blade would be a boon to the Templars, and Maab would deliver it.

The climb down the cistern would be easy enough - about twenty feet and enough jagged rock to grip onto. Maab swung her legs over the rail and prepared to climb down, but stopped.

This seemed easy. No mission is ever _this_ easy. The dagger was in plain view, easily spotted by anyone.

This was a trap.

She had come all this way, however, and that dagger in the water did fit the description. Maab stepped out onto the first jutting rock and began to climb towards her objective. Maab looked around the cistern and the water for any signs of a booby trap. Nothing. She hopped down the last few feet with a splash and sloshed her way towards the center of the pool. She picked up the dagger, lifting it up to look at it in the light.

Maab inspected the dagger closely. She wasn’t an expert appraiser, but it looked authentic enough: silver blade, runic carvings, properly-white handle. Maab twisted around to pull a protective sheath from her pack, and that’s when she felt it.

A pinprick, nothing more. Small, tiny sting on the side of her neck, just under her right ear.

Maab touched the area and came to two immediate realizations. First, that was a metal dart sticking out of her neck. Second, she vision was blurring and dimming.

Before everything went completely dark, Maab was faintly aware of losing her grasp on the dagger. Both she and the Carnwennan went tumbling down into the water.

\---

Maab awoke with a gasp. Blinking, she tried to move her hands to rub her eyes and found them bound. Her vision was still blurred, but the dim lighting offered her some aid as she took in her surroundings.

The metal walls and curved ceiling of the large room gave it away as some sort of airplane hangar, though it was empty save for a few freight containers. Maab lowered her head and immediately felt the room spin. Nevertheless, she tried to take stock of her current predicament. Her legs and hands were bound to a foldable metal chair with zip ties. The chair was flimsy - she could break it, perhaps, and escape - but the zip ties were secured tightly. Maab couldn’t see anyone else in her periphery. Screaming was impossible when one did not have a voice in the first place.

Maab rocked slowly in the chair, testing its structural integrity, when she felt an invisible force press on her shoulder to still her. Slowly, as if emerging from smoke, Eris appeared. She was dressed exactly like she was in the photo Sonnac supplied: dark purple bodysuit, pistols and gear strapped to a utility belt around her waist, dark mane in a ponytail. She almost didn’t look like she had in the cafe, but then she offered Maab that toothy smile.

“ _Efcharisto_ , Templar - you made this job much more exciting,” Eris snarked. She yanked the Carnwennan from her utility belt and held the blade mere centimeters from Maab’s nose, twisting it slowly so it caught the light. “How sad, the Templars are not going to get to gloat over this one.”

Maab narrowed her eyes and strained futilely against her bindings.

Eris stepped back and smirked. “I know, I know. You really thought you had it. What a disappointment. Ahh, but you know, that is the problem with your Templars, always rushing in headfirst… not thinking of the consequences. That wasn’t even the real dagger in the water, you know.” She clicked her tongue and tucked the blade back into her belt, then pulled a duplicate from behind her back. She tossed that one at Maab’s feet.

“I’ve humiliated you enough, no? Here, I’ll let you live and have a souvenir to remember me by.”

Eris kicked the fake Carnwennan, and it slid across the floor to stop between Maab’s feet.

Just as Eris appeared, she disappeared, in a swirling haze of smoke.


End file.
